If she was here
by whitetiger91
Summary: Luna loves dancing, but Xenophilius notices that for once, it's not making her smile. What would Pandora do?


_**A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 1.**_

 _ **House: Gryffindor**_

 _ **Year: Head Girl**_

 _ **Category: Additional (#2)**_

 _ **Prompts: 4. Dance recital**_

 _ **Word count: 2460 words (written on Google docs)**_

 ** _Betas: Thank you to CK (Theoretical-Optimist) for the beta! Xx_**

 ** _Ummm, also no explanation except that I now hav_ _e_ _a new_ _appreciation for those who can write in_ _first_ _person naturally :')_**

* * *

 **If she was here...**

"No! No, no, no, no, no!"

There are other words that I want to use as I look at the ink dripping from my printer, but I know Luna is upstairs and should not hear them. Still, it doesn't stop me from kicking the stupid machine, nor from receiving a throbbing toe as, yet again, I forget that it is made of a hard plastic.

I dance around the room, clutching my foot. My eyes land on the photograph of my dear Pandora, and the pain only increases as I recall what she'd have normally said: "Don't kick the printer; it's not its fault."

And of course, she'd have been right. If I had paid more attention to how many _Quibbler_ issues I was printing, I would've realised that I was running low on ink days ago.

Still—

After aiming another kick at the stupid machine, this time with my heel, I head over to the cloak rack for my travelling cloak.

"Luna? I'm just heading over to the Fawcetts' to see if they have ink."

I'm so used to hearing the usual, "no problem," reply, that I head straight to the door. It takes me a moment to I realise that only silence has met my call.

My heart skips a beat, and I find myself straining my ears to hear for any noise upstairs. "Luna?"

"Okay."

I don't need Pandora here to tell me that it isn't really okay. The ink can wait, and before I know it, I'm running up the stairs two at a time and bursting into my daughter's room.

"Luna?"

She's in there, twirling around, and I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. She's okay. For the first time today, I can feel my lips twisting up into a smile, and I say, "I see the room is full of Wrackspurts. Good girl; get rid of them."

Luna stops spinning around, the hands that had been reaching towards the ceiling dropping by her sides. There's no smile on her face, and just as quickly, mine drops, too.

"I'm dancing," she says with a shrug, but her eyebrows knit into a small frown.

Dancing is supposed to make her happy; it's meant to make any person happy. My heart skips another beat.

"It's looking good," I say.

She shakes her head and sighs. "It's not the same when there's no one to dance with."

She doesn't need to define who 'no one' is. We both remember how Pandora used to dance with Luna, the pair of them putting regular performances on together. Each Thursday night, when _The Quibbler_ had been published ready for distribution and Pandora declared her inventions better suited for another time, we would sit in the living room. Luna would select her favourite station on the wireless, Pandora would lace up the ballet shoes that were much too big for Luna's tiny feet, tying them so they were just tight enough not to slip off, and I would sit on the sofa as the guest of honour. And oh, it really was an honour.

I shake my head, the memory too fresh and too painful for now. Instead, I plaster a hopeful smile on my face, and hold my hand out to my daughter.

"Daddy can dance with you."

Luna looks at my hand for a moment, and I think she's going to take it.

However, she eventually says, "It's not the same," and flops onto her bed. Then, looking at me with wide eyes, she offers a small smile. "But it's okay! I might go and check on the garden, anyway. I've been meaning to do so all morning."

She jumps off her bed and skips past me through the door. I turn and watch as she heads down the stairs, her long white-blonde hair swishing about, before she pauses. Spinning on her heel, she runs back up the stairs, and takes my hand.

She squeezes it. "Really, it's okay."

I return the gesture, but I can't help that notice how small her hand feels in mine. I'm reminded that she is still young, despite the maturity she shows, and perhaps is just as lost as I am.

* * *

Memories of Pandora continue to cloud my mind as I head back from the Fawcetts'. I'm a little annoyed that Jeremy couldn't spare me a minute to listen to my request. I understand that he was just about to head out—although even I wouldn't wear my pyjamas to the shops—but I had at least thought he would want to help once he knew _The Quibbler_ 's future was in jeopardy. Whilst it was nice he tried to comfort me with a wide smile, it hasn't fixed my problem. Still, I spot the daisies lining the path back up to my house, and I can hear Pandora's voice telling me to stop and pick one, just to savour the moment.

"I wish my tutu was pink. I don't know why Madame Swimbourne insists we wear blue. Yuck."

I swivel around, and my heart leaps as I spot a group of girls about Luna's age. There's five of them, each giggling away as they skip towards me. Fashion and clothing may not be my forte, but I recognise the word 'tutu' straight away, and I realise that at least one of the day's problems will soon be solved.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, yes, you. Hi!" I run towards the group and have to pass them as they turn to head back up the street. They stop soon enough, their eyes wide.

"Hi," I repeat, trying to catch my breath. "Are you girls by any chance dancers?"

The girls look at each other. One of them, a girl with dark brown hair and a flat face almost like a pug's, points to her head and twirls her finger around. I've seen the motion before—many times in fact—but I can only guess that it means 'yes.'

I smile and clap my hands together. Excellent.

"I'm looking for some friends—"

"Clearly," one of the girls, a blonde, says, and the rest burst into giggles.

It takes me a while to realise that they are laughing because they think I want to be friends with them, and I join in with their laughter. Goodness, I need to be more careful with my words.

"No, no, not for me, for my daughter. She's looking for a few friends to join her in a dance recital."

This gets their attention, and I can see the girls' eyes lighting up. I can imagine Luna will be just as excited as they are now, and it takes everything in me to not run back to the house right now and tell her.

The brunette holds up her hand, however, and steps forward. Her dark eyes are narrowed, and for some reason, I feel like she is looking my robes up and down. But no, I know she is just a child.

"Does she live close by? My mother is very selective about who I hang out with," she says.

I beam at her and point to my house. "Just over there."

She nods, still looking at my robes, but then her eyes go wide. "Oh, I know who you are! You're that Luna's father."

Now I'm positive I will need a spell to keep me from running to Luna and sharing the good news. This is even better than I thought.

"Yes! I'm Xenophilius Lovegood, pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to be able to meet my Luna's friends like this!" I hold out my hand for the girl to shake.

She looks at it with a smile, but not a smile that puts me at ease.

"Sure, we're Looney's friends," she says, turning to her friends and giggling.

She doesn't turn back, and linking arms with the blonde and another girl, she proceeds to head back down the lane, the rest of her group in tow.

I can only watch them as they disappear back around the corner, still giggling away. I try to tell myself that 'Looney' is a fond nickname they have for Luna, and that the situation is not worse than I first thought.

* * *

"What would Pandora do? What would Pandora do?"  
I'm aware that a few wizards and witches are looking at me as I head down Diagon Alley, but I have no time to decipher whether it's because I'm carrying two bags full to the brim with ink pots, or because they'd like to know where I got my robes from. I'm far too busy trying, and failing, to recall what my dear Pandora would say now.

Would she want me to try and guide Luna to another activity? Would she tell Luna to forget what people say?

I raise my eyes to the bright, blue sky, wondering if she can hear me. A slight breeze tickles my face in answer, but I cannot be certain if it's her.

Sighing, I keep walking, hoping the answer will come. And, of course, it is when I do that I have to berate myself for ever doubting that Pandora is listening. There, flapping in the breeze, a poster stuck to the window of a shop catches my eye, and I know I have my answer.

"Mornin', how can I be of assistance today?"

I'm immediately greeted by the shopkeeper when I enter, but I have no time to offer a proper greeting of my own as I point to the poster on his window.

"How do I enrol my Luna?" I ask.

The man scratches his balding head and looks around. "Eh?"

I jab my finger towards the sign. "The dance academy. How do I enrol Luna?"

"Oh, you mean Madame Swimbourne's?" The man's eyes light up in recognition, as do mine; I'm sure I've heard that name before. Walking back over to the counter, he pulls out a piece of parchment. "You can fill out this form. I don't pity you having to sit there watching, though; those classes are dead boring. Unless you pass it off to your wife?"

I've already got the quill in my hand, filling out the paperwork, but I pause at his last comment. I'm sure Pandora would have loved to watch Luna attend dance classes. She would have dropped everything to attend. My eyes feel a bit itchy, and I have to wipe them with my sleeve as I finish filling out the form.

"Right, I'll Owl that off for you this afternoon. Just need the fee, now."

"Fee?"

The shopkeeper holds his hand out, before clicking his fingers. "Yes, two hundred Galleons."

I gulp, looking down at the bags in my hands. The ink had cost more than I had thought it would, and I need the remainder of my money to last until the next issue of the magazine gains some profit. Still, if it will bring a smile to Luna's face, it will be worth it.

"Well, that's more than I thought the year would cost, but I suppose it's alright," I say, balancing both bags on my arm and fishing around in my pocket for my purse.

The man's snort draws me to him, however, and he shakes his head sadly. "That's just five lessons, beginner's level." He must notice the way my knees start to buckle, for he adds, "Sorry, mate, I don't understand why it's so much, either. Might be all the extravagant shows that Madame Swimbourne puts on. Why don't you and your daughter put on your own show instead?"

I open my mouth to tell him that it won't work, but no words come out—perhaps because my mind is still reeling. Two hundred Galleons for five lessons? Only five?

It takes me a little while to recover, but eventually, I turn on my heel and head towards the door. _The Quibbler_ sells quite a few copies, but it's simply not enough for this.

I don't even bother to ask what Pandora would do, because if she knew, she wouldn't have tried to do that experiment in the first place, and would still be around to guide us herself.

A piece of red, velvety material catches my eye as I place my hand on the door. The price tag attached marks it as a sale item, and it's most certainly cheaper than even a single dance lesson. I pick it up, feeling it between my fingers, before turning back to the shopkeeper.

No, I don't need to ask Pandora what she would do, because I already know, and so, apparently, did he.

* * *

"What's this?" Luna's voice is full of curiosity as she takes the pamphlet I hold out to her. Her blue eyes widen as she looks at the picture of a blonde dancer printed on the cover. "Luna Lovegood's Dance Recital?"

I can barely keep the grin off my face as I nod and take her hand. The pamphlet used a fair bit of ink to print, but the colour seemed better than black and white. I guide her into the living room, and her gasp is enough to tell me that I'd made the right choice.

"Is that…"

I nod, beaming at the stage set up against the wall. It's not that grand—my limits seem to be set to writing rather than construction—but with the help of magic, I know it is sturdy enough. The red velvet curtains look brilliant hanging across the stage via an old curtain rod, almost like a proper dance stage.

I go to point out the garden gnomes already dressed in their tutus—really, they were the hardest part of the plan to put together—but my hand is pinned to my side. Looking down, I see Luna's arms are wrapped around me, and her eyes are watery.

"Don't you like it?"

My legs feel wet as her tears soak the material of my robes, and I worry that I've completely missed the mark and made her even more upset.

"Thank you," I hear, and when I brush back her hair, she looks up at me again. "Thank you. It's just like Mummy used to do."

This time, I can smile without pain as I think of Pandora, and I nod. "You can thank me by putting on the best dance recital yet."

Luna nods and without a second glance, she's climbing up onto the stage and complimenting the gnomes on their outfits.

I sit down on the sofa, watching as Luna twirls and leaps, pirouettes and kicks. The gnomes do their best to run around the stage, motivated by the turnips and carrots I have offered them for later, but Luna truly is the star of the show.


End file.
